


Butch & Sundance

by Sherylyn



Series: Butch & Sundance [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:43:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7305772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherylyn/pseuds/Sherylyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter arrives home to find something unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butch & Sundance

**Note:**  [ **kanarek13**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanarek13) and I stumbled upon a .gif and it set off much discussion... and then fic. So... it's not my/our fault. Honest. Or, as Neal might say, "I have an alibi." Well, I sorta do... ;-) Also, thanks to [**tjs_whatnot**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tjs_whatnot/works) for the title. She suggested it for something else, but I liked it so much I kept it for this one. And (*ahem*) anything that might follow...

 

~*~

 

As Peter entered the house, he was greeted by Satchmo, who hurried toward him, tail wagging furiously. “Hey, boy!” He set down his briefcase and paused for a few moments to pet the Lab. Something smelled delicious.  
  
El was in Boston until tomorrow evening, so that meant… “Sundance?” he called as he started toward the kitchen.  
  
He heard Neal’s chuckle, followed by, “In here, Butch.”  
  
Peter stepped into the kitchen to greet his lover, and stopped dead.  
  
_Dear God, what **is** he wearing?_  
  
Neal was standing by the counter, chopping vegetables.  
  
He was shirtless. And barefoot.  
  
And wearing old, loose jeans.

 ** _MY_** _jeans._  
  
That just barely covered his ass, they hung so low on his hips.  
  
Peter stared at him, almost not believing what he was seeing. And how it was affecting him.  
  
_I want to fuck him._  
  
_Now_.  
  
There wasn't even a question in his mind.  
  
That ass. That perfect, round, edible ass needed to be fucked.  
  
As soon as was physically possible. 

He tore his eyes from Neal’s ass to sweep over the kitchen. The oven was on, and Neal was making a salad, but there was nothing on the stove-top. 

Good. Nothing dangerous would happen… to the food, at least.  
  
He stepped up behind Neal and wrapped his arms around that slim waist, leaned in to kiss his jaw, then nibbled at his ear.  
  
Neal whimpered. “God, Peter, you know what that does to me…”  
  
“You know I do,” Peter murmured, letting his breath ghost past Neal’s ear. “Do you know what you look like right now?” He slid his hand deliberately down the front of Neal’s jeans, squeezing his cock and balls. Neal’s cock was already beginning to harden, and he stroked along its length with his fingers, then rolled Neal’s balls between them. “You look like pure sex in these jeans. I'd fuck you right through them if I could.” Neal moaned, arching back toward him. Peter moved his other hand to Neal’s chest and tugged at his nipple, then moved his mouth to the side of Neal’s throat and bit down lightly.  
  
Neal gasped, then moaned as Peter began sucking at his throat. “P-Peter…” Neal gripped the edge of the counter, and Peter slid his hands to the loose-fitting waistband of those damned jeans. He hooked his thumbs in the fabric and tugged downward, and, as he'd suspected, the jeans slid further down Neal’s ass.  
  
With a groan, he pushed his hands under the elastic of Neal’s boxer-briefs and, quite unceremoniously, shoved both the briefs and the jeans downward until they were just below Neal’s ass. Then he grabbed that ass — that beautiful, delicious, oh-so-fuckable ass — with both hands, kneading Neal’s cheeks roughly. He leaned even closer, rubbing his own hard cock against the cleft of that ass as he squeezed it, and growled into Neal’s ear, “Do you know what I'm going to do to you?”  
  
Neal whimpered. “Fuck me? Please?” he panted, and Peter growled again.  
  
“Oh, I'm going to fuck you, all right. I'm going to fuck you _now_.” And with that, he moved one hand to Neal’s groin, cupping his now-hard cock and balls through the fabric still bunched between his legs, and steered Neal toward the dining table.  
  
He released his grip on Neal’s ass as they passed the island in the kitchen, but only to grab the bottle of olive oil that was sitting there.  
  
He didn't want lube, he didn't want to remove his own clothing, he didn't want their bed. He wanted Neal’s ass, as quickly as possible, and as hard as possible. And he didn't intend to wait.  
  
Once at the table, he released his grip on Neal’s body in order to grab Neal’s hands and place them on the table, bending him over part-way, his ass nicely displayed. “Don't move,” he ordered, and Neal moaned and shook his head.  
  
Peter moved just far enough away from Neal to open his own pants and shove his underwear out of the way. He opened the bottle of oil, poured some onto his fingers, and hurriedly slicked his cock. He smeared the remaining oil around Neal’s entrance before pushing two fingers into Neal’s hole, twisting them inside him, then wiped the excess oil on Neal’s jeans. Neal whimpered, “God, Peter, now, _please_ ,” as he did so.  
  
“Oh, I am, babe,” he answered as he grabbed that ass again with both hands, squeezing those cheeks hard, then spreading them apart so that his wet cockhead could press against Neal’s entrance. “Ready?”  
  
“God, yes!” Neal panted, arching his back and pushing back against Peter’s cock.  
  
Peter growled again and pressed forward, his cock popping through Neal’s entrance and then slowly sinking out of sight into Neal’s body, and Neal keened softly as he was impaled. Peter could feel Neal’s hole opening around his cock, a sensation he could never tire of, regardless of how often he fucked Neal. At last, the base of his cock was stretching Neal’s entrance, his balls pressed tight against the curve of Neal's ass — and those jeans. Groaning, he ground against that ass, delighting in the feel of those lush cheeks pressed against his own groin, of Neal’s body relaxing around his invading cock, ready to be plundered.  
  
“Peter, please — fuck me!” Neal panted, and Peter growled into his ear.  
  
“You know what they say, sweetheart: be careful what you wish for.”  
  
And with that, he pulled back and began to thrust.  
  
No matter how many times he'd fucked Neal since they’d been together, he would never tire of hearing him, or seeing him, of _feeling_ him as he was fucked. Neal’s moans and cries and the movement of his body were music, a special type of instrumental that only made Peter want more, more, constantly, continually _more_ of his lover, of his body, of everything that made the three of them so perfect together.  
  
Peter’s cock pistoned in and out of Neal’s body, driving them both toward climax. He shifted his grip to Neal’s hipbones, digging his fingers into the familiar flesh as he fucked Neal, pounding their bodies together. Neal cried out again, his body arching, his arms stiff as he held them semi-upright, taking the rough fucking that they both so craved.  
  
“ _Fuck_ , but you feel so good, so fucking good in you, baby,” Peter panted, then moaned as Neal shifted positions, dropping onto his elbows on the table.  
  
“Feels so good,” Neal moaned in response. “God, but you feel good bare.”  
  
“Gonna come in you, let you feel my come in you…”  
  
“So hot in me, so full, so good…”  
  
“So hot, so tight, fucking _perfect_ , fucking you…”  
  
Neal dropped his head onto his forearms, his chest on the table. “Fuck me, Peter, god, _please_ …”  
  
“Fuck you, fucking you…”  
  
Peter bent further forward, gripping the sides of the table beside Neal, using the additional leverage to drive his own hips forward, full-force, against Neal’s body, his cock pounding into Neal, fucking him mercilessly. Fucking him as hard and as deep as he'd wanted to from the moment he’d seen Neal in the kitchen, wearing _his_ jeans. Nothing else existed for the moment: all that mattered was the two of them, and the pleasure of being joined together in physical passion.  
  
Neal’s head came up, and he cried out, his body tightening, and Peter knew… Neal came, his entire body shaking and shuddering as he climaxed, and Peter slammed into him twice more and followed him into orgasm. He came hard, his cock spurting repeatedly into Neal’s body, feeling Neal shuddering through aftershocks of pleasure as he was filled.  
  
Peter sagged over Neal’s back, panting through his own aftershocks, then leaned forward and kissed Neal’s cheek, his jaw, his throat — all the places he could easily reach. Neal gave a soft moan at the gesture. “God, I love feeling you in me,” he murmured.  
  
Peter gave a quiet chuckle. “I'm not sure which of us loves that more,” he teased, kissing Neal’s ear in a slow, deliberate manner.  
  
Neal moaned again. “You're killing me, Peter.”  
  
Peter laughed softly and slowly pushed himself up and off Neal, letting his spent cock slip free of Neal’s body. Neal whimpered slightly, and Peter squeezed his gorgeous ass again before stepping back far enough to straighten his own clothes.  
  
Neal groaned and slowly pushed himself upright, tugging at his clothing in an attempt to straighten them — the bunched-up fabric was being uncooperative. Peter grinned and leaned in to kiss him properly, sliding his arms around Neal to grab his still-bare ass and pull him in close for a deep, affectionate kiss, and Neal wrapped his arms around Peter and groped his ass just as enthusiastically.  
  
When their mouths lazily parted, Neal looked up with a wry expression. “That was amazing, but I hope you realize that your suit now has my come on it.” He nodded toward where their bodies were still pressed together.  
  
Peter glanced down and shook his head slightly. “I'll let you take it to the cleaners. You can tell them it was all your fault, anyway. You and those damn jeans.”  
  
Neal laughed as he stepped back and finally managed to get the jeans and briefs back into their original position. He grabbed the bottle of olive oil and turned toward the kitchen. At the doorway, he glanced back at Peter and smirked. “Why do you think I wore them?”

  
~END~

 

(.gif file was found at [Blacksmith](http://blacksmith2015.tumblr.com/post/134646892377/1201-httpblacksmith2015tumblrcomarchive) on Tumblr. If you know the origin of the file, please let me know and I'll be happy to credit the original artist.)

 

This story now has a sequel: [Butch & Sundance Ride Again](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7763236). :)


End file.
